


The Dissolution of Hermione Granger

by AureliaBlack90



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BDSM, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Possessive Tom Riddle, The Slytherin Cabal's Twistmas 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 07:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17117345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AureliaBlack90/pseuds/AureliaBlack90
Summary: After Voldemort’s downfall, Wizarding Britain falls even further into civil war, the Dark and the Light vying for power. Hermione Granger finds herself in the midst of an unfolding narrative that she never could have predicted - operating as a pawn in a war that neither faction should win. So like any other decisive heroine, she decides to drop herself into a new narrative, and rewrite history. Will she successfully change the tide of the war, while also creating a new future for herself? Or will she be outplayed by the same corrupt men of power that haunted her previous life?





	1. The Prelude

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Twistmas](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Twistmas) collection. 



> Written for The Slytherin Cabal's Twistmas Fest 2018  
> Prompt: Making love by the fire.
> 
> This fic has been a labor of love - It's the longest I've written and my first Tomione. I've worked so hard on this and would love to hear your feedback! 
> 
> HUGE thank you to Lil Miss Gryffinpuff for doing such fantastic Beta work and for walking me through this from start to finish!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thank you to Lil Miss Gryffinpuff for doing such fantastic Beta work and for walking me through this from start to finish!
> 
> Story Playlist:  
> Love Lies by Khalid & Normani - “Sorry if it’s hard to catch my vibe / I need a lover to trust / It’s not easy for someone to catch my eye / But I’ve been waiting for you / It's hard for me to open up, I'll admit it / You've got some shit to say and I'm here to listen”
> 
> Exchange by Bryson Tiller - “Just gimme all of you in exchange for me”
> 
> Without Me by Halsey - “You don’t have to say just what you did / I already know”

_**Friday December 21, 1957** _

Hermione strode quickly through the dark, chilly halls of Hogwarts, making a beeline for the kitchens. She still had another hour or so before her rounds would be over, but her breath was already clouding in the frosty air, and her toes were going numb despite the warming charm she’d cast. _It was officially winter in Scotland._ Hopefully a cuppa would help warm her bones so that she could finish her rounds without freezing her arse off.

It was the last Friday of term before the children would be returning home for Yule, so she had come across quite a few students out of bed, celebrating the beginning of their winter hols. The hour was late, but she was unsurprised to find a band of drunken 7th year Ravenclaws loitering in the kitchen. They were gathered around the long wooden table by the fire, enjoying dessert and what looked to be firewhisky in their tea. The kitchen was bathed in a warm glow, and the cacophony of their laughter brought a large smile to Hermione’s face. The Ravenclaws beckoned her over and she happily took a seat among them.

As Hogwarts’ resident Teaching Assistant, Hermione had the same authority as the other teachers, but tended to cut the older students a lot of slack. She was earning her mastery in both Arithmancy and Potions while working as a junior staff member, so the older students were more familiar with her than what might be considered ‘appropriate’. She had just turned 25, so the 17 and 18 year olds looked up to her. She allowed the familiarity for the joy of it as well as for all the benefits that came with being well-liked. In the year 1957, she was not above using Slytherin tactics. She was a Slytherin in this era, after all.

Hermione felt as though she was getting a second chance at Hogwarts - and writing a bit of new history for _herself._ Working as a T.A. while earning a dual mastery was grueling work, but it was well worth it. Plus, it was a great coverup to conceal the real reason she was at Hogwarts in an era that did not belong to her.

Her cover story had been crafted quite easily. A half-blood Brit born and raised in France, looking to spend time in her home country. Having looked into the Dagworth-Granger Family during her original 6th year after Slughorn mentioned them, she knew that she would have no ‘relatives’ in this time to dispute her claims.  All the necessary documents, test scores and referrals were rather easily forged.

Albus Dumbledore was, thankfully, out of the picture for the time being, having chosen to devote his time to academic research after his defeat of Grindelwald. It was rumored that he was somewhere in Romania, furthering his research on dragon’s blood. All in all, she had been slightly aghast at just how smoothly the creation of her false identity had gone.

After her interview with Headmaster Dippet, he decided that she should continue the Hogwarts tradition of trying on the sorting hat, even though she was much too old to be sorted. She was initially offended when the hat began to whisper in her ear, insisting that she belonged in Slytherin. She has been about to argue when it posed quite a compelling argument, and she was quickly convinced. Hermione wasn't under any delusions that she was still the same girl that had entered Hogwarts the first time at age 11, after all.

Dippet had been delighted that she had been sorted into Slytherin House. Apparently, the Head of Slytherin would be teaching a new, ‘experimental’ NEWT level course that had yet to even be given a title, and he would need help performing all the duties required of him as a Head of House. The perfect solution, according to Dippet, was to simply give Hermione a second job title -  Slytherin’s Auxiliary Head of House. Hermione was only too happy to accept. It suited her own purposes just fine, after all.

Her main purpose in traveling to the past was not to earn her masteries and work as a Junior Staff member, but she took full advantage of any opportunity that gave her a chance to replace the terrors of her childhood with some new memories. Giving herself a new life, with new goals, new people, new challenges - it was exactly what she needed to move on from the war.

So Hermione fell quickly and easily into her new life at Hogwarts in 1957. It was a joy to laugh, and to mingle among friends. It was a luxury that she had rarely had in her own time, when they had primarily been concerned with trying to survive. Hermione had carved out a place for herself in the past, writing a new narrative each day that she went about her daily activities. She built a camaraderie among the 7th years as well as among the rest of the Hogwarts staff, and never felt the need to hide how intelligent she was. In 1957 she was well-respected, and was no longer forced into a one dimensional box labeled MUDBLOOD.

She had left her sorrows of the future in what was now her past, and hadn't looked back. There was no life there for her anymore - not one that she wanted anyway.

When Hermione had agreed to use that long-forgotten time turner one last time, she had hoped for a chance to not only change the course of the future, but also change the course of her own life. The real question remained, however: Could she accomplish both?

 

_**Friday June 21, 2005 - Summer Solstice** _

Hermione stood in the middle of the runic circle that she and her fellow Griffins had spent hours constructing. They had been building up to this moment for two years, since their very first accidental meeting.

She took a deep breath and began to turn the small hourglass one turn after another in the same moment that her peers began to repeat their own incantations, traveling in a circle around her, their arms sweeping up and down, becoming a blur. They had discovered an ancient transportation ritual that would make the space and time around the subject fluid and open. As they worked, Hermione began the process of activating the time turner that she had kept close to her since age 13.

The Sands in the hourglass of a Time Turner were said to have extraordinary properties. Various scholars through history had suggested that the sands had the ability to form a bond with their owner, similar to the bond that could be formed between a wizard and their wand. There had been a collection of Time Turners created with Goblin Wrought Silver, which was infamous for imbibing only that which strengthened it. It was said that that particular batch of Time Turners, with their ability to bond and to collect all of the magic that the wearer had come into contact with, were sentient magical objects.

It just so happened that the Time Turner given to Hermione at age 13 had been from that particular batch.

Hermione had kept the Time Turner on her person for many years, charmed to remain unseen, and had long felt such a bond form. She had seen many sentient magical objects act outside of the parameters that wizards had set for them in the past - and as she attempted to travel back in time further than any of her predecessors, she was banking that the Sands of her hourglass would be no different.

So Hermione funneled all of her raw emotion onto two things:  her hatred for those that had stolen her future, and her convictions to rewrite what had transpired.

Her childhood had been taken from her; not only by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but also by Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who had brought them up as Children of War, who had taught them what it meant to be soldiers before they were even old enough to understand what they were fighting for.

At age 16, the black and white battle lines that had been drawn assured their loyalty and dedication to the cause. But as an adult, the relentless rhetoric of ‘good’ vs. ‘evil’ had done nothing but deepen her sense of mistrust and contempt for the leaders they had so blindly followed. As Hermione grew older, she had begun to see the things that Dumbledore had attempted to hide. How he had continually manipulated the narrative to turn the public eye in his favor, and maneuvered people into positions that would prevent them from seeing him as an opponent. The longer she watched, the more she understood that they had never been fighting against ‘Evil’, or for Muggleborn ‘rights’, or even to constitute ‘change’.

All along, they were fighting to determine who would one day be in power. Dumbledore had clearly anticipated that once Voldemort had been defeated, he would be unchallenged.

Unfortunately for them all, the war had continued on even after Voldemort had been struck down. The Dark’s inner circle remained as powerful and strategic as ever. So they continued to preach that Muggleborns had stolen magic, and that they were a danger to the Statute of Secrecy. _Place your trust in the Ministry, give control over to us, and we will keep you safe._

But the more their rhetoric bled into the minds of the Public, Hermione saw more and more similarities between the Dark’s campaigning and what she had so often heard  from Dumbledore.

 _Muggleborns must be protected_ , the Dark said, _Keep them cloistered away. Don’t give them too much power, they won’t know what to do with it. We must be on the offensive to protect ourselves from the threat muggles possess._

P _lace your trust in me_ , Dumbledore said -   _give control over to me, and I will keep you safe_ . _Don’t worry, you need not bother, it’s for us to deal with. We must be on the offensive in order to keep our worlds separated and protected._

Hermione saw it in the way the Weasleys dismissed her, in the way Dumbledore refused to include her in the inner circle as Harry and Ron and so many others had been. _It wasn’t safe,_ they would remind her. _She was the victim. She wasn’t capable of handling it. How could she be, when she was a muggleborn?_

How very wrong they were.

They consistently underestimated her at every turn.

They looked down their noses at her, and were blind to their own prejudices.

If the supposed ‘Light’ won, would anything actually be any different? She had seen enough to know that Wizarding Britain would be no safer for Muggles or Muggleborns under Dumbledore’s rule than under the Death Eater’s.

As Hermione confirmed her suspicions again and again, she endeavored to keep Dumbledore’s true motives to herself. She knew that her time would come. After all, didn’t good strategy simply come down to waiting until the right moment to act? Heroines didn’t conquer their enemies by giving up the game too soon. Besides - Harry and Ron, the people she would have traditionally allied herself with, were Gryffindors through and through. They were in Dumbledore’s pocket, whether unable or unwilling to see his true colors. And did it even matter? They were simply no longer trustworthy.

So Hermione threw her energy into perfecting her Occlumency skills and into honing her magical abilities. She hunted and secreted away ancient magical texts that challenged her and that also proved her theories to be correct - that magic was not inherently light or dark. That concept had always been a political construct, simplifying the issues in order to distract people from the real issues.

The longer she waited, ‘safe’ and tucked into the background while silently gathering her own intel, the more she learned about the reality of the political climate. The more she understood the truth:

That this war had not escalated in response to a threat to Muggleborns.

This war had begun when Tom Riddle, who she guessed had also been interested in resurrecting the practices of elemental and grey magiks, had begun to pull political influence away from Dumbledore.

She hadn’t yet seen exact proof, but she guessed it had been Dumbledore that had pulled the practice of elemental magic from the Hogwarts curriculum, and honed what was taught to fit his agenda.

_Dumbledore’s Army indeed._

_How had no one else seen it?_

***

On a blustery October afternoon in 2003, Hermione had apparated to a small nondescript muggle town to pick up some supplies. It was happenstance that she ended up visiting the same market at the exact same time as Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. They were all very surprised to see each other and had immediately backed into a hidden corner, wands gripped tightly up their sleeves. But after just a few tense moments, it was clear they meant each other no harm.

Curiosity had gotten the best of her, and as her questions became more invasive, Draco rolled his eyes and invited her over for  tea at a safe house a short distance away. that they had apparently been hiding out at for some time.

Wizarding Oaths were made quickly in the alley behind the market before they left, and by the time the sun had set that day, the Griffins had been born.

A new resistance.

They were not so different from each other, they discovered.

This was not their war; it never had been - so they hatched some plans of their own.

They delved further into the study of mind magics, in ancient rituals and blood magic, into all the grey magic that had been deemed ‘dark’ but in reality was rooted in the caster’s intentions. They tested each other, and as she grew more firmly rooted in her magical power, she also grew in her anger at all the ways she had been unknowingly subdued for years.

Hermione was glad she had had the presence of mind as a thirteen year old to replicate the ministry-approved time turner she had been given, and to give them back the fake.

No one had checked it, how could a thirteen year old have performed such magic?

It had not been the Griffin’s first choice, but as time passed, it became more and more clear that the Time Turner was their best option.

As she continued to turn - turn - turn - the sands glittered and it seemed to wink at her. It had been lying in wait for just this opportunity. A kind of sentient magical pulse filled the runic circle and even as she felt her robes whipping around her in a high wind, time suddenly began moving in slow motion, the incantation and wand movements of her peers moving at the pace of a snail. Just as she began to feel the powerful pressure of a force about to pull her through a long tunnel, she focused all of her magical energy onto one person, one mission: Tom Riddle.

 

_**Friday December 21, 1957** _

Hermione readily accepted a splash of firewhisky in her tea from the Ravenclaw seated next to her. To them, she was just a girl in her early 20’s earning her Masteries. She was fair when she graded their work, and was always willing to make time to tutor students in the library. She looked the other way as long as you were being reasonably safe. She could be lenient, but she was wicked fast with her wand, and she commanded respect.

They didn’t know that she had been hardened by a war that had not yet come to pass. They didn’t know all the scars that had been carved into her body by knife and by wand, or the night terrors that would sometimes break through her shields and haunt her dreams.

They didn’t know the true nature of their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, or what he had the potential to become.

So it was easy to laugh with her students, these children on the cusp of adulthood, still unmarred by the harsh realities of the world. It was easy to pretend that the persona she had adopted for the past was her true identity.

And for the moment, Hermione supposed it was.

But no matter how much she enjoyed playing her part, _He_ was always in the back of her mind.

Tom.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Clearly, this fic is very much AU! I’ve included my edited timeline so that you can get a better picture of what’s going on. I’ve based some of my dates on the timelines you can find on the HP Lexicon but have changed them to fit my purposes. The ages of the characters also veer from cannon but are listed alongside the timeline. I would LOVE reviews but please also remember that I am not aiming to match cannon in this fic whatsoever, so if you have problems with that this may not be your cup of tea. 
> 
> Timeline  
> Past  
> 1944: Tom Riddle creates his first Horcrux after killing his father  
> 1945 - Tom Riddle graduates from Hogwarts at age 18  
> 1945 - Dumbledore has defeated Grindelwald & the turns to academic pursuits abroad, taking time off from teaching. Begins research on dragon’s blood & alchemical work with N.F.  
> 1945 - 1955: Riddle travels & earns his masteries in DADA & Transfiguration abroad. He delves further into Grey & Dark magics but does not create any more horcruxes.  
> 1955 - Tom Riddle returns to Hogwarts to teach DADA, where Dippet remains headmaster. Tom is now age 28.  
> 1957 - Hermione Granger begins her Mastery studies while working as a teaching assistant at Hogwarts. Tom is now age 30, still teaching DADA at Hogwarts.
> 
> Future  
> 1998 - Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione is age 18  
> 2003 - War has continued, the new, secret resistance of the Griffins is born  
> 2005 - Hermione travels back in time to 1957 at age 25
> 
> Griffins  
> The Griffin is a legendary creature with the body, tail and back legs of a lion, and the head and wings of an eagle. It was considered to be powerful, majestic, and brave. They denoted strength and military courage. They were also known for guarding treasure and priceless possessions. 
> 
> “But one griffin hath the body more great and is more strong than eight lions, of such lions as be on this half, and more great and stronger than a hundred eagles such as we have amongst us.” - Sir John Mandeville 
> 
> “…and in size and strength they resemble lions, but having this advantage over them that they have wings, they will attack them, and they get the better of elephants and of dragons” - Flavius Philostratus mentioned them in The Life of Apollonius of Tyana.
> 
> By choosing the name The Griffins for this new resistance, I was not intending to implicate any ties to Gryffindor House. If you read the above info, you can see that the Griffin has typically been depicted in literature as being stronger than other animals. I liked the imagery of using the Griffin as a symbol of the power they will come to wield over both The Snake & The Phoenix, as well as their mission to protect their ‘priceless treasure’ - the quality of their future in Britain. 
> 
> *Notes and Quotes taken from the Wikipedia page titled “Griffin”


	2. The Exposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has settled into the pretense of doing her Masteries and working as a T.A. in 1957, but is as dedicated as ever in her mission to gain Tom Riddle’s trust and change the course of history by altering his choices. But an unexpected twist has begun to curl through the narrative….She didn’t expect that they’d have so much chemistry.

_**Friday December 21, 1957** _

Shortly before midnight, Hermione decided she had better get the students into gear and heading towards bed. Deliciously warm with firewhisky flowing through their veins, they were all hesitant to step back out into the drafty halls. The Ravenclaws begged her to join them back in their common room for their favorite drinking game - something involving human chess, Founder’s Trivia, and copious amounts of firewhisky - but she still had one more stop to make before she could head to bed for the night.

After some cajoling and threatening, the students finally meandered tipsily out of the kitchen with their arms slung over each other.  A jolly chorus of “Goodnight Hermione!’s” rang out and she couldn’t help but chuckle as the lot of them stumbled and almost fell in a heap attempting to make their way down the corridor.

Hermione would never say it to their faces, but drunk Ravenclaws tended to take on some suspiciously Gryffindor-like traits. They may have been known for their competitive studiousness, but they certainly knew how to have their own brand of fun. 

She watched them pass through the secret passage that would pop them right up to their Raven’s Nest before she began her descent down to the dungeons.

Because she was officially a staff member, Hermione now had access to all four common rooms. She had occasionally visited the Hufflepuff common room for this or that, and when she had first traveled back in time she had found herself sneaking into Gryffindor Tower. She would go in the dead of night, reminiscing about her time there with Harry and Ron, inevitably mourning the things that may have been, had her era not been war-torn. She also got to enjoy the beauty of the Ravenclaw Tower when she refereed The Raven Review, which was their unique brand of Socratic Seminar - a fascinating monthly debate that the entire house participated in. But it was Slytherin House that she frequented the most. It was  _ her _ House now, after all.

The walk  to the dungeons was quite chilly, especially after enjoying the warmth of the kitchens. She bustled through the entrance and headed straight for the fire to warm up her hands. Thankfully, the 7th years had already sent all the younger kids up to bed. Most likely they had done so out of their desire to have the common room to themselves, but it was still quite responsible of them nonetheless. They were lounging in the armchairs clustered around the fire, similarly to how the Ravenclaws had gathered around the hearth in the Kitchen. The atmosphere couldn’t have been more different, however. The room was silent - yet abuzz with concentration. All eyes were fixed on just one of their number. 

It was immediately clear to Hermione what they were doing, as she had witnessed it on several occasions. The were playing the classic drinking game of Slytherin House:  Two Truths and a Lie. Hermione helped herself to a glass of the firewhisky sitting out on the coffee table and took a seat, curious to see what sort of ‘shocking’ truths these 17 year olds had come up with.

“Ok, Ok, I’ve got it!” one of them said. “The lie has to be that you’ve fucked Madam Greengrass, because there’s  _ no way _ she would ever give  _ you _ the time of day”.

The group waited with bated breath for the the student in question to declare the answer - correct or incorrect? The boy held his poker for another second before a smirk bloomed across his face. 

“Wrong again, I’m afraid!” It caused quite a stir - a collection of crowing at his supposed sexual prowess, and frustration on the part of the lad that had guessed incorrectly as he threw back his shot of punishment. Hermione smiled indulgently, but it quickly turned into a scowl as they began to call for her to take the next turn.

They were all dying to know some of her secrets, no doubt. She was nothing if not mysterious in this decade.

“Alright, alright” she conceded, “ I will go  _ once _ and then it’s off to bed with the lot of you!” The room grew silent again, waiting for the puzzle she was sure to present. It was just quiet enough that she heard the almost indiscernible thud of the portrait hole closing as someone entered, invisible.

She felt his presence cross behind her, but forced her body not to betray her awareness. There was a faint shimmer near the fireplace and she estimated that he had come to stand in a position where he would be able to clearly read her face.

Suddenly the game changed, and it was not just Two Truths and a Lie that she was playing.

Hermione took a moment to decide what information she was going to reveal, and double checked that her vault was sealed tight, her memories buried deep within the recesses of her mind. Within just a moment of his entrance, she felt his aura begin to gently pry at her defenses. It was almost as if she could feel the smooth skin of his hand running along the outside of the walls she had built, searching for cracks. Searching for weakness. He was nothing if not thorough, but then again, so was she. There were simply no cracks for him to find.

They had been at this game of cat and mouse for months, and he had yet to make any headway. It was amusing to Hermione, that this supposedly unbeatable legilimens had yet to gain any ground with her. It was exhilarating to feel his magic stroke against her own, yet make no purchase - fingernails scraping against stone.

Hermione contained her smirk and she decided to throw him a bone, so to speak.

“Alright. Number One: I’ve ridden on the back of a dragon.” She paused for dramatic effect and looked around at each of their faces. “Number Two: I’ve been under the cruciatus on and off  for over a two hour period and escaped with my wits fully intact.” She paused yet again, and could practically hear their wheels turning. “Number Three: I’ve kept a human trapped in their animagus form for 6 months inside of a glass jar.”

The room was silent for just a moment before the group erupted into debate, talking over each other in frustration, trying to discern which statement was the least  improbable for her to have to have accomplished.

Hermione looked up at where she knew Tom was standing and sent him a small smirk, feeling him retreat away from her mind. After about 10 minutes of arguing, the children had come to a conclusion.

“Alright then, let’s hear what you’ve come up with” she invited.

“We’ve decided that the lie is quite obvious. It has to be that you were under the cruciatus curse for over 2 hours.” the head boy spoke for the 7th years having been elected to present their group assessment. “No one could withstand being under the cruciatus for such an extended period of time and still be as smart as you are, Hermione”. He winked at her and she looked at him, a saccharine smile resting upon her features. He had been trying to get into her knickers the entire year, always plying her with praise and compliments. She appreciated the sentiment, even if he  _ was _ totally reaching. She was about to gamely tell him his error when Tom decided to make his appearance.

No matter how he may deny it, he so loved his dramatics.

The Slytherins were all in a tizzy when Tom suddenly appeared before them, having undone his perfectly executed disillusionment charm. At the wave of his hand they settled down, waiting on pins and needles to hear what he had to say. Tom met her eyes for a moment and then looked down at the Head Boy, a serious expression across his face. Hermione wondered if he had figured it out.

“That was excellent reasoning, and perfectly in alignment with what you’ve learned in class.” The group collectively sighed in relief at having chosen correctly. But just as they were about to start discussing, Tom unexpectedly continued.

“But unfortunately, you’re wrong. All three are true, are they not, Ms. Granger?”

Tom met her eyes once more, a wide smirk crossing his face. The Slytherins gasped and Hermione gave a short nod.

“That’s correct, Tom.” She nodded in his direction, conceding. She turned towards the students, some looking at her in horror, some in awe. On all of their faces she saw a great measure of respect.

“Now I  _ believe _ our deal was that I would play one round, and then you would be off to bed?” Hermione asked, her eyebrows raised. They all protested, wishing to hear more, but Tom wouldn’t take no for an answer. With a chorus of “Goodnight Professors” they finally swept to their rooms, much more dignified in their exit than the Ravenclaws had been. As they neared the top of the stairs, she heard one of them murmur in a stage whisper, “Do you really think she kept someone in a  _ jar _ for half a year?!”

Hermione chuckled. With a wave of her wand, Hermione had the common room tidied up, and she turned towards Tom. He was leaning casually against an armchair, watching her as he always did with equal measures of interest, suspicion, and want.

“Shall I escort you to your quarters, Hermione?”

_ Always the gentleman _ , she thought wryly.

“That would be lovely, Tom”.He offered her his arm and Hermione regretfully stepped back out into the drafty corridor once more. She allowed him to tuck her close to his body and couldn’t help the thrill that ran through her as he brushed her hand with his long fingers. The tension between them had been building for months, and after things had come to a head the previous night, his touch was just as much torture as it was relief.

When she had traveled to this era, she had come with a handful of strategies of how she could go about changing the future, with the ultimate goal of stopping Tom Riddle Jr. from becoming Voldemort. But she, along with her fellow Griffins, had understood that she would have to decide upon her arrival how best to proceed.

While Hermione had known there was a chance she would need to become close with him in order to influence his choices, she had never believed it would be in this capacity.

She had been told all about Tom Riddle Jr. over the years, and had been fairly confident that she  _ knew _ him. She had heard stories of how handsome and charismatic he had been. How he had been so well liked, and so powerful, that people would practically fall at his feet.

But in retrospect, simply hearing the words meant very little. Tom Riddle Jr. was an enigma that you couldn’t possibly understand until you were standing face to face with him. When he began to flirt with her, Hermione ran with it. If that was her  _ in _ with him, then she would take it. She thought she would have to fake it in order to reel him in, but the more time they spent together, the more she realized that she wouldn’t be faking anything at all.

“So, are you going tell me?” Tom asked, casting her a sideways glance as they walked.

“Tell you what?” She replied innocently.

“Well, we could start with when a nice little half-blood like yourself, homeschooled in France, had the opportunity to ride a dragon? Then we could move on to why in the name of Merlin you would ever have reason to hold someone hostage in their animagus form?” He looked at her again with a raised eyebrow, but continued to absentmindedly stroke her hand.

“Then, perhaps,  we could finish with the name of the person that had you under the cruciatus?” He nearly growled out the word, clearly unhappy with the idea of anyone hurting her. His possessiveness had begun to come out in his tone of voice, in his casual touch, in his questions, and she was thoroughly enjoying it.

“I think those might be stories for another day, Tom,” Once more putting him off. She had been very carefully controlling what he saw in her mind, what he heard from her lips, only feeding him tid-bits here and there. She knew if she tried to keep him out altogether, he would just become aggressive.

Tom frowned, but chose not to respond.

_ He is trouble,  _ she reminded herself for the millionth time.

Unfortunately, the more she told herself that, the less she seemed to care. After all, the more time she spent with him, the more she saw that they were quite evenly matched. She was no longer afraid of the threat he may pose. Yes, he had already murdered, had already created at least one horcrux. But he was not yet a monster, and if she had any say in it, he never would be.

When they arrived at her door, he swept up her hand and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. He held her gaze for a long, heated moment, his body lingering a little bit closer than what could be considered friendly. The memory of the salacious kiss they had shared the night before - their very first - came to the forefront of her mind. She felt Tom’s magic brush against her and she readily opened up the memory. It passed easily between the mental connection they had already established, the heat of their chemistry mingling in a shimmering aura around them. She pressed her primary emotion through along with the memory -  _ want. _ She always pushed the truth first, to try to cover up the lies. Tom’s gaze heated further as he registered the emotion she was revealing to him. She leaned a little closer as he brushed her hair behind her ear and cupped her face, rubbing his thumb across her chin.

“Soon, Princess. You withhold so much, yet expect me to give to you freely? Perhaps you should think about being more willing to share.” And with a light kiss to her temple, he swept away without a backward glance.

He had known she was hiding something big from the moment they met -  that could not be helped. But she was having a hell of a time trying to feed him just enough information to keep him happy, without tugging him completely down the rabbit hole.

Hermione watched him until he had turned the corner, then huffed as she slumped into her suite, slamming the door behind her.

She could practically hear the ghost of a chuckle sweep under her door and whisper maddeningly in her ear. His damn near perfect lips never ceased to drive her crazy.

Now that Tom had figured out what she wanted - which was  _ him _ apparently- he was holding it over her head. The kiss they had shared had been quite illuminating, in more ways than one. The lines had been completely blurred, and she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing for the good of humanity and what she was simply doing for herself. Unfortunately, after Tom had seen the effect he had upon her, he now thought he held all the cards.

But Hermione still had a few up her sleeve.

So after being left hanging in her doorway, she put on one of her favorite pieces of lingerie, silky black satin and lace, and lit candles around the room so that when she showed him the memory of this moment, the light would bounce and flicker off of her skin. She ran her hand along the calendar on her desk so that he would see the date and know that she had pleasured herself right after he had left her standing in her doorway. She was hoping he would be well and truly shocked when he viewed the memory the following day.

She sat on the edge of her bed facing her vanity, and began by slowly caressing her breasts. She ran her hands up her neck and into her hair, arched her back and pressed her palm against her folds, still covered in satin.

She wanted to give him a show he wouldn’t soon forget.

She stripped slowly, inch by inch. It was pinching and caressing, breathy moans and hooded eyes. She opened her legs and ran her fingers through her sopping, swollen folds before bringing them up to her mouth to lick clean. She teased and played and writhed on her bed until finally, she came with a cry of “Tom!” on her lips.

As her breathing slowed, she sent a smirk towards the doorway where she imagined he might stand as he replayed the scene she had created for him.

Quite pleased with herself, she tucked herself into the covers and easily drifted to sleep.

If he thought he was the only one that could manipulate, he should think again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot Structure:  
> As we all learned in our lit classes as children, there are 5 main components in the progression of plot throughout a narrative: 1) Exposition; 2) Rising Action; 3) Climax; 4) Falling Action; 5) Resolution.  
> As you may have noticed from the title of this chapter, I will be utilizing this concept of plot progression as a literary device to further illustrate the way that Hermione is experiencing her time in the past with Tom. She is coping with the horrors of her past by choosing to identify herself as a heroine in a narrative, disassociating herself from the tenuousness of her reality . In order to shift her identity from the person she was forced to be in her own time, she has facilitated a new life for herself. But even she cannot control how the narrative will twist now that she’s arrived.


	3. The Rising Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione re-lives their first kiss from earlier in the week and she delivers some payback after Tom leaves her hanging. She becomes more determined than ever to keep her secrets and continue to manipulate the course of the future, even after Tom proves to be more powerful than she had anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: BDSM, Dom/Sub Relationship, Possessive Tom, Sub/Brat Hermione, Orgasm Denial, Manipulation, Dubious Consent, Subspace Play, Praise Kink
> 
> Please note that my goal in this story is not to depict safe, sane or consensual BDSM practices or educate on what is appropriate BDSM behavior.

**_Saturday December 22, 1957 - morning_ **

The following morning Hermione entered the Great Hall with a smile on her face, excited that they would soon be ushering most of the students out of the castle and home for Yule. It would be nice to enjoy the quiet of the empty castle for a few weeks. She reached the Head table, but slowed to a stop behind Tom’s chair.

He was sipping a cup of hot tea when he noticed her, and raised an eyebrow when he saw her place something small next to his plate. She laid a hand on his shoulder and cheerily wished him a _Good Morning_ before moving on to her seat.

Tom picked it up and glanced at it discreetly before slipping it into his pocket. His interest was immediately piqued. It was a vial with a little red tag tied around the top that read “Enjoy”.

He glanced at her, and although she was already seated further down the table, she was watching him with a smug grin on her face. He met her gaze and once again, he saw at the forefront of her mind their interlude in the hallway three days prior burning behind her eyelids.

A shiver ran down his spine as he contemplated all the possible memories she may have gifted to him.

 

**_Thursday, December 20th, 1957 - Evening_ **

Hermione had never deluded herself that their first kiss would be the culmination of some sort of romantic exclamation of feeling. When they had first started flirting soon after her arrival to Hogwarts, she had assumed it would be a heated discussion that would eventually push them together. To her surprise, however, it had not been one of their mind games, theory discussions, or power plays that brought things to a head. Rather, it had been an idiotic 7th year Gryffindor that had been the catalyst.

On their way to her rooms to do some grading two evenings before the beginning of the Yule holiday, the two of them had overheard some boy making a lewd joke about her. It was nothing she hadn’t heard before; something about how _someone should really put Granger’s big mouth to use_. Hermione had flushed as embarrassment and anger flooded her. She rolled her eyes, preparing to go and deal with them, when she realized that Tom was already striding around the corner.

Tom approached the group, while Hermione stood back to watch. She was perfectly capable of dealing with it on her own, but the more time she spent with Tom, the more she enjoyed watching him. He never showed his hand too early, kept his intentions to himself until the right moment. It was fascinating to see the way he manipulated people, used his words as a weapon, had a contingency for even the most mundane conversation. She could tell that everything he did was a contributing piece of the reputation he had built. It was all politics, all the time.

Hermione imagined he was glorious while dueling - inventive, precise, brutal. A snake poised to execute.

She vaguely recalled how much she used to hate it when Harry or Ron would try to ‘defend’ her honor. They blustered and raged and wore their emotions on their sleeves - Quintessential Gryffindors. They may have made their feelings clear, but that did very little to accomplish anything. Their actions had always seemed childish. They treated her with kid gloves, like she couldn't handle herself. Hermione felt that if it had been just her and Harry, things might have turned out differently. He had had his own Slytherin tendencies in the beginning, after all. But in a world where there was only the Hero and the Enemy,  Slytherin had become the scapegoat. He had been groomed by the Weasleys and manipulated by Dumbledore, and in the end, he too had become another obstacle in her path for truth.

It was infuriating that someone she had loved as a child had grown into an adult that in the end, she couldn't be herself around. Someone she could no longer trust.

With Tom, it was different. He never underestimated her abilities, never worried about her feelings or her ‘female sensibilities’. He saw her for what she was - powerful, ambitious, and more than capable. After all, they had already become partners, of a sort. Between T.A.ing for his classes, sharing the Head of House responsibilities and secretly helping him lesson plan for what had been named his ‘Practical Magic’ NEWT level class, he had a much clearer picture of her abilities than those in her past ever had.  

And he treated her as an equal because of it.

He allowed her to see him with his guard down, allowed her to see parts of him that he kept hidden from others. He respected her; he knew her. And that’s why she had no problem letting him deal with those arrogant boys who thought they could say whatever they wanted and get away with it.

Once the boys had became aware of Tom’s presence, their laughter ended abruptly and a heavy silence descended upon the group. Tom was known for his harsh punishments, and it did not bode well for them that they had just insulted a woman who graded a vast amount of their work. A few of them looked green around the gills, but their guilt ridden faces did nothing to alleviate Tom’s anger. He dished out reprimands, detentions and point deductions in a cold, menacing tone. He was even better at quietly commanding respect than Snape had been.

After he had dismissed the boys, they shuffled towards her and each offered her an apology, heads hanging, before heading towards their common room. Tom watched them with narrowed eyes, his hands ‘casually’ resting in his pockets. Hermione could tell that his reaction to their words was more than just a concern for propriety; he was jealous. The thought 0f him being possessive probably should have worried her, but all she felt was heat pooling in her stomach.

The two of them continued their journey to her rooms, where they did much of their work together. It was more spacious and comfortable than his own. He remained stiff, and when she glanced at him she could see that he had dropped his mask he had displayed to the boys, an appropriate amount of disapproval mixed with annoyance.

Now, he looked purely murderous. Hermione’s heart rate spiked, and her breath caught in her chest. Something was about to happen, she was sure of it.

When they arrived, she had just turned to un-ward her door when he spun her around and shoved her against the hard stone of the doorway. He pinned her wrists above her head, trapping her body between his arms and legs, and finally - _finally_ \- his lips were on hers.

The kiss was rough, all tongue and teeth, their magic pulsing around them in a powerful current. She arched against him and he pushed her even harder against the stones, molding himself to the length of her body. She moaned into his mouth as he shifted his thigh between her legs, pressing it deliciously against her center.

“You are _mine_ , Hermione. Do you understand me?” he growled softly, his mouth on her ear.

Without a thought, she was nodding, and his mouth reunited with hers.To be claimed in such a way so early in their relationship would have scared her away if anyone else had spoken it; it was too intense to be appropriate. But their relationship had been intense from the beginning, and as she heard the words leave his mouth, she realized she’d been longing to hear them.

Hermione kept her mind blank and guarded, but allowed herself to sink into the oblivion that had begun to settle over her. Tom dropped her wrists and ran his fingers down the length of her body, learning her curves. His hands were another kind of magic altogether, and Hermione felt as though he was trying to shatter her just to remake her again. He gripped her hips, dug his thumbs bruisingly into her hip bones. He ran one hand up her chest and wrapped it around her throat, pressed his thumb down upon her pulse point. Her heart stuttered as liquid desire pooled between her thighs and she gasped, overwhelmed. She was falling, losing control, pliable under his powerful fingertips.

“Do you like that, Princess? Having my hand wrapped around your delicate throat?” he asked, the edge in his voice sending another shockwave down her spine.

“Merlin, yes Tom!” She gasped and bucked against him. He pressed into her once more, and Hermione vaguely wondered if kissing was supposed to be _This. Fucking. Good._ She melted into him even further, a writhing ball of need.

When they finally parted to breathe, Tom yanked on her curls, her head tilting back and clunking against the stone behind her. He gripped her jaw and held her there, looking deep into her eyes, once again initiating their favorite game. A thrill of fear ran through her, and she tried to clear her mind in the split second before he was suddenly within it, taking up residence inside her in the most impossibly intimate way.

Tom knew Hermione thought it was her mastery of Occlumency that had kept him out. And yes, she was certainly powerful... But really, he was just getting started.  When the moment was right, she wasn’t going to know what hit her.

The game had begun her very first night at Hogwarts, when he had tried to look into her mind as he shook her hand in greeting. All he got was a door slammed in his face, and he was immediately intrigued. Not many people were practiced in the art of Occlumency, and those that were...well, they definitely had something to hide.

As their relationship grew from work associates to something more, Hermione began to let him in. She needed him to trust her if her plans were going to work. A memory here, a memory there, controlling exactly what he saw, and how much. She lured him in, on purposely guided him to see what she wanted him to see.

It was really quite well done, and Tom was impressed with how fluidly she guided him. She could close doors upon the things she wanted to hide so eloquently that it was almost imperceptible.

If he hadn’t been as accomplished as he was, he may have been fooled. Unfortunately for her, Tom could see right through her intentions. She thought she had him, and he was going to keep it that way. When the time was right, he would know her secrets.

Every last one.

This time, as Hermione allowed him to breeze past her first defences, she opened up the scene in the hallway with the Gryffindors. She wanted him to see it through her eyes, feel her desire. She let him feel how attracted she was to him, to his power, to his mind. She wanted to reel him in however she could, and lies were best received when cloaked in the truth. But Tom knew that however genuine her emotions may be, she used them as a smoke screen to hide information. However much she excelled at manipulation, he was just better, plain and simple.

The scene in the hallway had barely begun when he pushed it aside and instead continued his search.

He had done this before, searching quickly through all the mundane and ordinary life memories for the secrets she was hiding. It felt like a hurricane, and Hermione let him whip up the winds of her brain. All the knowledge, emotion, and power that rested there swirled around in a frantic blur. It was yet another distraction technique, another layer of protection that existed outside her inner walls. While in the hurricane, he would see nothing. No hint of a locked vault, no whisper of a hidden door leading elsewhere.

Unfortunately, she had completely underestimated his ability to calm the storm.

Tom pressed his forehead against hers, his mouth lingering close enough for their lips to just barely brush. She could feel his magic press in around her like a heavy blanket, hot and practically suffocating. But surprisingly, it was not the sensation of drowning that she felt. Rather, it was like the moments just before an orgasm, where your breathing stilts and the pressure builds and suddenly, your world shatters.

Tom exhaled into her open mouth, and there it was - he could finally see the door he had been looking for for months.

Panic began to rise within her. She should be pushing him out, but her subconscious was inviting him inside instead. Hermione hadn’t anticipated how much physical touch could strengthen a mental connection. The two parts of herself warred against each other; how much of their bond was real, how much was fake?

She didn’t know anymore. The Tom that stood before her had become so much more real than the monster of her nightmares, and she could no longer deny to herself how very real the bond between them was.

Tom stepped through the door he had been searching for ever since she had closed him out of her mind that very first meeting. What he saw astounded him.

Hermione had cleverly organised her mind as a large personal library, complete with workspaces, grand fireplace and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the sea. Filled with information, complete with a ladder running around the outer 2-story shelves, and comfy armchairs in front of the fire. It was where she returned each night as she sorted through the events of the day, filing each piece of herself into the appropriate place. It was her safe haven, where nothing had ever gone wrong. And now Tom Riddle was there, waltzing through the door, looking around inquisitively.

She could still feel the weight of his hand against her throat, the cold stone of the wall on her back, his hips pressing against her own. It was Occlumency 101 to use physical sensation to anchor oneself and withdraw out of the mind and back into the body. But the sensations she registered were not strong enough to draw herself away from Tom’s magical energy.

Their eyes closed and they both stepped fully inside, as though her mind’s library was even more tangible than the hallway their bodies were standing in.

Hermione forced herself to slow her breath and remain calm as the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind them. Just because he was here, didn’t mean he would find it. He _couldn’t_. No matter how much she wanted to open herself to him, she knew that that he could never be allowed to see all that she knew.

She rested her hip against a table and watched him as he perused, running his hand along the shelves. Although he did not appear to be searching for anything in particular, Hermione knew that couldn’t be true.

When he had looked to his heart’s content, not appearing to have found anything particularly interesting, he sauntered over to one of the two armchairs by the fire and took a seat.

It was curious, she thought, that she had always imagined two chairs in front of the fire. Why not just one? It was as though she had always planned on having someone come to visit. She stayed where she was, impatient for him to exit.

_"Come sit down, little one”._

Hermione huffed, feeling petulant, but slunk over to the other chair.

Tom looked over as she flopped down, arms crossed. He smirked at her brattish expression.

_“This is quite impressive, Hermione”._

She looked up at him under her lashes, not able to completely hide how pleased she was at his praise, despite her desire to stay upset with him. He chuckled.

 _"You_ know _I can feel your emotions while I’m here with you Hermione. If your subconscious had not invited me in, however grudgingly, we would be in a much different position right now.”_

Of course she knew he was right. His presence in her mind was not hostile. It did not feel like a violation, or like a struggle. In fact, it felt like his magical energy had taken root inside of her, as though she had been filled with something delicious. Something she had unknowingly desired for a lifetime.

She merely shrugged but said nothing. Tom leaned back in his chair and continued to look around him, admiring all the detail she had built into her sacred space.

_“Now, are you going to show me what I’m looking for, like a good girl? Or do I have to do all the work by myself?”_

Hermione had no intention of allowing him any further into her mind. It was enough that she apparently wanted to show off her library to him! No matter how impressive he found her, she absolutely could not allow him to see anything more.

That was not in the plan.

Tom felt her resolve beginning to build and shrugged his hands, standing up from the armchair.

 _"Well, if you_ insist _, Princess.”_

And without further ado, before she even realized what he was doing, he had ripped up the heavy, ornate rug from in front of the fireplace. Underneath, sealed shut and heavily locked with magical energy: a trapdoor. She leapt up just as he was crouching down to feel the rough wood of the hidden door, and rushed towards him.

Her conscious mind seemed to awaken, and with a burst of magical energy she forced him out of her mind. The surge of power behind her magical push forced him physically off of her and sent him stumbling backwards, reeling towards the opposite wall. She was up, steady and determined, her wand pointing at him within a second.

But apparently, it was unnecessary.

He was doubled over, gasping in deep breaths as though the wind had been knocked out of him. She stayed where she was, wand steadily poised. After just a few moments he caught his breath. But he was not angry as she had expected him to be -  he was laughing.

Full belly, head thrown back, crowing laugher. Hermione scowled and raised her wand higher as his laughter echoed off the far end of the corridor. Tom threw his hands up once more in a show of surrender. He approached her and placed his hand on her wand arm, lightly pushing down.

_“That’s enough for now, Princess. I know you’re tired, and I know you can feel that I have no ill intent towards you”._

He was right, of course. She was connected enough with his magical aura to know he had no plans to harm her.

Hermione allowed him to lower her wand arm and steer her back around to face her door. He took down her complicated warding pattern in a split second and ushered her inside, closing the door behind them. She should not have been surprised, as he had watched her do it on many occasions. But to see him be able to lock in to her particular magical signature so easily...it left her feeling even more vulnerable to him.

She stumbled through her sitting room and through the door to her bedroom, flinging off her shoes and outer robes. Tom busied himself making tea in her kitchenette while she changed into her warmest flannel pajamas and slid under the covers. It was pretty early in the evening, but she was suddenly so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open. It had taken all of her energy to force him out of her mind. If he had truly wanted to stay, she had no doubt he could have. She had been under the impression that they were almost evenly matched...it was troubling to learn that he clearly had reserves that ran much deeper than hers. 

But it appeared that that would be a problem for another day. She was banking on his patience, his love of the chase, to keep him from plundering her secrets after she had worn herself out. She knew him well enough now to know how drawn he was by a challenge.

If she had succeeded in nothing else, at least she had succeeded at one thing - he wanted her, he had claimed her, called her _his_. Things had already been changed irrevocably from the original timeline. How he chose to proceed with the first person he had ever truly claimed would remain to be seen.

As it turned out, the year she arrived in the past had been the year that Dumbledore had been set to return to Hogwarts after his sabbatical. The attendance at Hogwarts was at an all time high and they needed more staff members on the premises. Hermione had no doubt that if Dumbledore had returned, Tom’s Practical Magic course would have been cut, and simply teaching DADA would not have been enough for him to continue teaching. The rivalry between the two would have been too great to bear, and Tom would have left to delve deeper into dark magic that would later strip him of humanity.

But Hermione had arrived in 1957, and because of the workload she had agreed to take on, Dippet had encouraged Dumbledore to continue with his academic endeavors. The Practical Magic course that had never been taught in her own time had become a thriving success.

Practical Magic was the NEWT class Hermione had always dreamed of - a class rooted in the discussion of intent, the branches of magic not taught in specific courses, and the many directions that students could take their magical education after they sat for their NEWTS. One of their goals was to teach students to think critically, so that they would not be bound by the restrictions that they were taught in the early years of their schooling. This revolutionary course had been what really drew her and Tom together, as they planned and plotted what to include in the curriculum.

It was the beginning of the exact change she wanted to create in the world. For children to be taught to think for themselves, to reach their full magical potential, to understand the beauty and complexity of the magic that ran through their veins.

Maybe she had allowed Tom to lull her into a false sense of security, which was a fool’s mistake. But in so many ways, she and he were the same. The kiss they shared had confirmed everything she had felt building between them, and she was convinced that she had finally gained his loyalty.

But did having his loyalty mean she was safe from his violent and brutal tendencies? She had begun to believe that she was.

Hermione felt the bed dip down next to her, and she sat up to take the tea he offered, made just the way she liked. She stared down at her cup, trying to avoid his eyes.

They sat in silence for a moment, his hand resting heavily on her leg above her blankets.  She looked up as he broke the silence to see that his gaze was now stern.

“You _will_ open that trap door for me, Hermione” Tom ordered. “Maybe tonight was not the night, but I will not be deterred from knowing the truth. Whatever it is you’re hiding, I suggest you just come out with it. It will not be hidden for much longer.”

Hermione sighed, shook her head and placed her tea cup down on the end table. Perhaps the best approach was to just be firm. _Reasonable, yet firm,_ she told herself.

“My secrets are my own, Tom. They are not for you to know.”

Tom’s face darkened and he stood abruptly, beginning to pace. Hermione watched him anxiously, wondering what his response would be. He stopped and placed his hands on her vanity, staring down. She could see his face reflected in the mirror and was not pleased what she saw there, brewing under the surface. A flash of red in his eye made her hair stand on end. She itched to draw her wand, but she decided it would be best to remain unarmed.

Suddenly, he slammed his hands down on the dresser.

“Dammit, Hermione!” He growled at her and did an about face, striding for the bed.

Her eyes widened and she scrambled away from him, but not quickly enough to escape the hand the lunged for throat and pinned her down on the mattress. She struggled against him, but he easily grabbed her wrists and once more pinned them above her head. She thrashed under the blankets, kicking at him before he threw his weight and flattened her. In a move that completely caught her off guard, he planted his lips against hers and his tongue was suddenly in her mouth.

She shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want the way he manhandled her, held her down, commanded her body to bend to his will.

But she had never been so turned on.

As though there had merely been a brief intermission after their interlude in the hallway, the heat between them came rushing back full force. His hands released her and ran over her breasts, and she arched up against him, desperately wanting his fingers, his mouth, his cock, _something_ to alleviate the tension building inside of her. Too bad there was no way Tom was going to give in to her when she had so harshly denied him what he had asked for just minutes before.

He pulled back and looked at her, his jaw set in firm resolve. She leaned up to try to capture his lips once more, but he gently pushed her back and sat up, straddling her.

“Do you remember what I said in the hallway, Princess?” he asked her while he rubbed one of her nipples between his fingers. Even through her flannel pajamas, his touch felt divine. Hermine let out a hiss and nodded, turning her head to the side so that she didn’t have to look him in the eye.

“And what did I say?” He asked her. She shook her head, refusing to look at him. It felt too embarrassing to say out loud.

Tom, recognizing she might need a little more incentive, leaned over and whipped the covers off of her. Hermione yelped at the cool breeze and tried to yank them back over herself.

“I don’t think so, you little brat” he chuckled and leaned back over her, pinning her wrists once more above her head. His face was inches from hers once more, and it was almost impossible to not meet his gaze. He ran his other hand down her body and settled his fingers between her legs, softly stroking her pussy through her pajamas. Hermione gasped and bucked against him, longing for more.

She didn’t understand the headspace she fell into when he spoke to her like that, but it was intoxicating. It felt like the delicious comfort of sinking into a bath, or the warm buzz that settled into her veins after her second glass of whiskey. The power dynamic between them was different when they were like this. Hermione knew that it must be dangerous, but yet again she couldn’t seem to bring herself to care. She was boneless under his touch.

“Now let’s try again, princess. What did I tell you in the hallway?” He pulled his hand back and she almost cried in frustration.

“Tom, please!”

“Tell me what I want to hear, and you might get a reward, Hermione” He began to slowly stroke her once more. “We’re practicing a new lesson, you and I. I told you something in the hallway and it’s very important you remember it. So I need you to _repeat it for me_.” He pressed his thumb against her clit and she cried out as he pulled away. He released her wrists, moving his hand to her jaw to force her to look him in the eye.

“Ok! Ok.” She panted. “You said…” she paused, but finally whispered, “You said, ‘You are mine Hermione’”

She looked up at him under her lashes and was met with a wide grin. He gently rubbed her clit and kissed her.

“That’s a good girl” She sighed in relief against his mouth.

He continued to stroke her pussy as he kissed down her neck, fumbling the buttons of her pajama top open until he found a nipple with his lips, pulling it tightly into his mouth. Her hands ran up and down his chest before gripping his face and pulling him back to her, kissing him furiously. But it was only a moment before leaned back down to her ear.

“Now that we’ve established who you belong to, be my good little girl and show me what’s locked under that trapdoor.”

She could tell he was excited, his breath catching as the words fell from his lips. He was dying to know what was hidden there. He could blast through her defenses if he wanted, and she wouldn’t be able to stop him, But that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to coax her to give it up, to have her choose to reveal it all to him, and then he would reward her.

She almost considered it. _Almost._

But she wasn’t yet that far gone. Who knew how he would react to finding out all that had come to pass in the future? He would be furious, she was sure.

So with renewed resolve, she unexpectedly shoved him off of her. He rolled to the ground with a loud thump and a groan. Hermione sat up and crossed her arms.

“No, Tom.”

Tom chuckled as he peeled himself off the floor. Hermione was glad that his anger seemed to have dissipated.

“OK, that’s fine for now. We’ll talk about it again another time.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, shaking his head at her with an amused expression. Then he turned to leave.

Hermione groaned in frustration.

“To-om”, she whined in a high pitch voice that she would never admit to making - not in this era or any other.

He laughed and turned around, looking down his nose at her.

“Absolutely not, Princess. If you’d just be less stubborn, we could both have what we want.” He waved his fingers at her as he headed towards the door once more.

Hermione cried in frustration and threw her pillow at him. It hit the door as he closed it, and she could hear his laugh as he headed through her sitting room and back out into the castle.

This night had not gone as she had planned.

 

**Saturday December 22, 1957 - evening**

Hermione was relaxing in her sitting room with a book that evening when an owl came soaring in through the open window. She had been patiently waiting to see what Tom’s reaction to her memory would be.

He had demanded she be willing to share more, hadn’t he?

After the evening of their first kiss, Hermione had strengthened her resolve to push forward. She would work at continuing to earn his trust while still keeping the truth as secret as possible. Yes, she had underestimated him, but it was not too late to rectify that.

Hermione opened up the letter and chuckled.

 

_Princess,_

_I did say I wanted you to be more willing to share, but this was not exactly what I had in mind. However much I may want you, you are not going to get what you want unless you share whatever it is you’re hiding._

_You may play with yourself all you want, but you may not orgasm again until I say. If you are obedient, you will be rewarded. However, disobedience will warrant a  punishment._

_And I will have the truth, Hermione... About this and about everything else you’re hiding._

_Delicious though, all the same._

_Yours,_

_Tom_

 

Hermione trembled. Tom Riddle was the last person she should be submitting to, but her body thrummed with excitement at just the thought of what he was suggesting. The desire to defy him was nearly overwhelming. How did he always know exactly what to say to set her on edge? They were so evenly matched in every other way, why should it surprise her that they would click in this way as well?

He seemed awfully sure of himself, though.

She thought on it for a while, and finally decided she would have to send a follow up memory, just as an experiment. He thought she couldn’t push him into giving her what she wanted? Well, that would remain to be seen.

 

**Sunday December 23, 1957 - early morning**

Tom sat in his office reading when her owl soared through his open window, another tiny vial clutched in its talons. This time, the note read, “What shall my punishment be, Tom?”

He was already plotting as he poured the memory into his pensieve. He had really hoped she would choose that option.


	4. The Dissolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has convinced herself that if she simply gives Tom something to prove her loyalty, that he will be content with what little information she's given him. When he joins her for Christmas Eve in her suite to deliver her punishment, things begin to deteriorate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: BDSM, Dom/Sub Relationship, Possessive Tom, Sub/Brat Hermione, Orgasm Denial, Manipulation, Dubious Consent, Choking, Subspace Play, Praise Kink
> 
> Please note that my goal in this story is not to depict safe, sane or consensual BDSM practices or educate on what is appropriate BDSM behavior.

**_Recap of the days leading to Christmas, 1957_ : **

_ Thursday, December 20th _ : Tom punishes the boys that are speaking inappropriately about Hermione. This sparks their first kiss, and Tom calls her  _ ‘mine’ _ . Tom sees the trapdoor in her mind where she had hidden the memories of her own era.

_ Friday, December 21st _ : On the last day of term, Tom walks Hermione back to her suite but refuses to kiss her again until she is willing to share more of her memories, and whatever it is she is hiding.

_ Saturday, December 22nd _ : Hermione delivers a memory to Tom that she created for him the previous night. Tom sends her a note, telling her she is not allowed to orgasm again until he gives her permission, and if she disobeys she will be punished.

_ Sunday, December 23rd:  _ Tom receives another memory from Hermione, in which she disobeys his orders.

***

 

_**Monday December 24th, 1957 - Christmas Eve** _

Hermione had a perfectly lovely Christmas Eve, her most enjoyable in many years. She had slept in, enjoyed a late breakfast in the kitchens, and then spent her afternoon wandering through the snowy streets of Hogsmeade, window shopping and enjoying the Yuletide decorations. The castle and the village were both deliciously quiet, now that nearly all the students had gone home on break. She found a few gifts for her coworkers, and spent an inordinate amount of time hunting for a gift for Tom. His words rang through her head all day, stirring up desire within her. She hadn’t heard from him after she had sent him the new memory the previous day, disobeying his orders. The anticipation was killing her.

It was disarming, to have come to this era with the intentions of dismantling Tom’s reign, only to realize that the best way to do so was to allow and encourage his pursuit. To then have their relationship turn into something real… it would have been unthinkable to her past self, but was now undeniable. She continued to war with herself, trying to decide how much she could reveal without giving everything away.

_You’re mine, Hermione._

She ended up purchasing an antique wizarding pocket watch for him, an expensive piece made of silver with crystal inlays. The piece was masculine but also screamed ‘old money’. On a whim, she asked the shop owner if he could engrave something on the back, which he was happy to do. The irony of buying Tom a timepiece was not lost on her, but somehow it struck her as the perfect embodiment of what had brought them together. While clasped in her hand, she could feel the entirety of the years that had stretched between them, the weight of the improbability of their union.

_Are you going to show me what I’m looking for, like a good girl?_

Such a meaningful gift was sure to appease his hunger for a greater commitment from her.

Once her shopping was finished, she spent a few hours in her favorite little cafe in town attempting to read, but ended up reading the same page multiple times, her mind occupied with thoughts about Tom, going back and forth in her resolve. She had to keep their relationship moving forward, or he would pull back, and she would lose her influence. Would the timepiece be enough to buy her more time?

A handful of things had already changed, but it wasn’t enough.

Not nearly enough.

Hermione was committed  to see this through until there was nothing further to be done, no matter how much she wanted Tom. In spite of her desire, or despite it, she couldn’t be certain. Now that she had felt his lips, his touch, how could she continue to pretend to herself? It had become so much more real than she had ever intended.

_Come sit down, little one._

An idea had begun to take root in her mind the night they had shared their first kiss in the corridor outside of her suite, and now, several days later, it was almost all she could think about. She had gone through a million different possible outcomes in her head, and she couldn't see any other way forward without losing all the ground she had gained with him.

_You little brat._

When Hermione returned to her suite late that afternoon, it was to find a note sitting on her desk.

 

_Princess,_

_Be prepared to receive your punishment tonight at 7._

_Tom_

 

She let out a very un-Hermione-ish squeal and immediately began bustling around, preparing.

Whatever was going to happen, it was happening tonight, and she was going to be ready.

***

Precisely at 7pm, Hermione heard him knock on her door. She approached and took a deep breath, straightening the slinky black slip dress she had donned for the occasion. It had spaghetti straps and eyelet lace along the top, dipping to reveal just the right amount of cleavage. She had primped and plucked and moisturized all evening, eagerly awaiting his arrival. She had convinced herself that her plan would work, that things would have to go as planned.

In hindsight, her arrogance is really what had caused things to dissolve so spectacularly.

Tom wasn’t the only one thwarted by a lack of humility, it seemed. Yet another way in which they were similar.

Hermione was rewarded for her efforts when Tom entered, his gaze moving slowly down and back up her body. He leaned in and gave her a rather sweet kiss on the lips, cupping her face with one hand. It only lasted a moment, and left her dying for more.

He chuckled at her dazed expression, and headed into her living room. He set something on her coffee table and began taking things out of a basket that she hadn’t even noticed him carrying.

Her heart melted a little as she realized he had brought a picnic dinner with him.

They set their dinner up on her rug in front of the fire, a delicious spread of meats and cheeses, olives and grapes, bread with jam and honey. He poured them each a glass of what looked to be an expensive red, and clinked her glass with his own, a gentle smile across his face.

He led her to sit right next to him, tucked her into his side, and proceeded to feed her one bite at a time. She tasted a little bit of each offering, and with each bite felt herself slip further and further into obedience. He directed her every movement - when to open, when to sip as he held her glass up to her lips. The busyness of her brain quieted and all she knew was the feel of his fingers against her lips as she sucked honey from them, the heat of his body supporting her, the gentle caress of his hand on her back. The buzz settled low in her abdomen and she was high -  so fucking high on him.

“Did you enjoy that, Princess?” He asked after they had finished eating. He had pulled her over to sit in between his legs and lean against his chest. She curled her body in to him, thoroughly enjoying the heat that had settled into her bones with every low syllable of his voice, every brush of his hand. Her heels had long since been kicked off and he had settled one arm around her stomach, the other propping himself up. She nuzzled her nose against his jaw.

“Mhhmm. Oh, I have something for you, Tom”. She suddenly remembered, and wandlessly summoned the watch. She looked up just in time to see the surprise cross his face.

“Merry Christmas, Tom” she smiled.

He looked down at her, an eyebrow raised.

“Gifts aren't going to get you out of your punishment, Princess.” He informed her. She giggled.

“Are you sure? I thought maybe we could work out a deal.” She asked coyly.

Tom tutted at her as he unwrapped the paper, and proceeded to slowly open up the black velvet box. She could tell he was surprised, touched even, as he lifted up the watch with care to admire it in the light of the fire. He ran his thumb over the outside and opened it, examining the intricate features of the face, before seeing the inscription on the inside of the cover. He squinted slightly in order to read the delicate letters in the dim lighting.

_“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I'll meet you there.”_

His whole body seemed to still, his eyes glued to the words. Hermione could feel a tremor run through him.

“It’s something that has always stuck with me, written by the poet Rumi. I thought it quite fitting for us” Hermione murmured quietly. She ran her hands along his thighs that were still trapping her in, unsure of how to proceed.

Quite suddenly, her backrest disappeared from behind her as he stood. She jerked forward to keep herself from falling all the way to the floor and whipped around to see Tom pacing the length of her little suite, clearly agitated.

Suddenly, she remembered what it felt to fear him.

“Tom?” She whispered.

At the sound of her voice he turned to face her, and she was surprised to see the way his face was contorted - in rage, or in anguish, she couldn’t tell. She scrambled to stand, and began to back away just as he began to advance. Her wand was just a short distance away, on her desk. While she didn’t want to spook him into action, she felt the innate urge to have it in her hand.

“I’m tired of the games, Hermione.” He glowered at her. “Now are you ready to tell me the truth about what you’re hiding? Because if you continue to lie to me about who you are, this is _done_.” His voice was so low, he was practically growling at her, and she saw just a hint of a red gleam flicker from behind his irises.

Hermione gulped, forcing herself to breathe. She had expected this, she knew he would demand a gesture of loyalty. He needed to feel secure in his relationships, she knew that about him.

So instead of continuing to back up, she inched towards him, holding up her hands in surrender.

“OK, Tom, OK.” She surrendered. And without further ado, she placed a hand on the Time Turner that never left her skin, and released all the charms she had placed upon it in order to keep it hidden. She lifted it over her head and hung it out in front of her, so that he could see it clearly in the firelight.

She expected to see a dawn of comprehension upon his face, but instead his shoulders sagged with relief. She expected questions, and a chance to explain - _she came from several generations in the future, and had traveled back in time on accident, landing in 1957,_ but there were no questions. He took the time turner from her hand, tossed it onto the coffee table and threw her onto the couch. He climbed on top of her, gripped her face in his large palms and ravaged her mouth.

As she fell further and further into oblivion, a thought suddenly occurred to her.

_He had known about it all along._

_So what else did he know?_

“Wait Tom. Wait!” she pushed against him, but he merely trailed his lips along her collar bone, and down between the valley of her breasts.

“Yes, little one?” He responded, using that nickname that felt so taboo, but sent a shudder of pleasure through her every time he used it.

“You...you already knew?” She whispered. Tom finally pulled away and looked at her, his darkly amused expression leaving her with a chill.

“Of course I knew you were a time traveler, Hermione. I’ve simply been waiting to see if you were ever going to be honest with me.” He rolled his eyes before leaning down to capture one of her already hard nipples in between his teeth. She gasped and arched underneath him, her eyes fluttering shut.

“A test?”

"Yes, a test. And lucky for you, you passed.” He met her mouth once again, before standing up suddenly and pulling her to her feet.

“Is everything... settled between us, now?” She asked as she stood to look him in the eye. He smiled reassuringly.

“Yes, for now it is, Princess. However, you have yet to serve your punishment.” He smirked and turned her around, holding her hands behind her back and leading her around behind the couch. He held her hands in one of his own, and placed his other hand on her neck, pushing her to bend over the back of the couch, her arse displayed beautifully in before him. He leaned over her and nipped at her ear, before whispering to her.

“Have you ever been punished before, little one?”

Hermione jerked her head to indicate that no, she had not.

“I thought not. Don't worry, I know you’re going to thoroughly enjoy this.” She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was pleased she hadn't played this way with anyone else.

Tom stood back up and traced his hands along her back and up her sides, along her arms and into her hair. Her every nerve was on fire, waiting and wondering what he was going to do next.

“Now, while we’re playing this game, Hermione, you may only address me as ‘sir’, do you understand?” Hermione began to nod until she felt a sharp smack against her are. She yelped in protest.

“Try again. Say, ‘I understand Sir.”

“I understand, Sir.” Her voice came out much higher than she expected.

“And do you remember what you’re being punished for tonight, Princess?”

Her mind went blank as he ran a hand down to cup her arse through her dress.

“Umm…” She began, until she received another smack and jumped slightly.

“For orgasming without permission, Sir.” She nearly shouted. Tom laughed.

“You’re starting to catch on. Good girl.” Hermione flushed under his praise.

Tom took a step back to admire her, and Hermione squirmed at the thought of not being able to see what he was doing. He smacked her lightly on the thigh, making her skin smart.

“Ouch!” She yelped in surprise.

“When you're receiving a punishment, you have to be still. Can you do that for me?” Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to stop wiggling in anticipation, “Yes, sir.”

Slowly, Tom lifted up the hem of her dress, trailing it lightly against her skin until it was bunched all the way up at her waist. Hermione sucked in a sharp breath of air as he ran his hands over her back, hips, along her cheeks and down her legs. She felt him crouch behind her, and as light as a feather, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her lace panties and slid them slowly down to her ankles. She could scarcely breath as he hovered behind her, quietly admiring her pink, swollen cunt. His breath fell upon her and she was unable to stop herself from jerking at the heady sensation of his mouth being so close. He lightly slapped her arse cheek in reprimand, a warm up.

“Ah, ah, ah, you’ll have to do better than that, little one.” And with that, he stood. He lulled her into a false sense of security, running his hands over her bare arse cheeks, giving her a gentle massage, before all of a sudden his hand was coming down upon her in a harsh smack. It smarted, but she remembered to be still. Another slap came, and another, and in just a few moments Hermione had drifted into another state of consciousness, where it was only Tom, and the pleasure he was raining down upon her. Her skin was hot and tingling, and although each smack brought a sting of pain, it was nothing in comparison to the shot of liquid fire that traveled down her spine and directly to her cunt each time he touched her.

It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours, Hermione didn’t have a clue. She was vaguely aware of his murmurs to her of   _how perfect you are; what a good girl; that’s it, we’re almost there._ His last slap landed right on her lush, dripping pussy. She cried out, so close to finishing that she was sure she would die of anticipation.

“You’ve been such a good girl, receiving your punishment. I think you deserve a reward, Princess.” Nearly incoherent begging fell from her lips;  all the _Yes sirs_ in the world could not have conveyed how much she needed his lips upon her. But truly, it was worth the wait.

He crouched behind her once more and tilted her hips before lapping his tongue against her in one long stroke, before latching his lips around her clit, and all of a sudden she was coming. Screaming, gushing, hands clenched and electricity shooting through her body, coming harder than she ever had before. It was effervescent, coursing through her, waves of pleasure singing all throughout her veins. A complete release, a promise of trust and reliance upon Tom that went so far beyond what could be construed as an attempt at influence or as a power play. In the deepest recesses of her spirit she felt a stirring of hope bloom within her - that maybe he didn’t need to know her past - that maybe who she was, right here in front of him, was enough.

As her body stilled, Tom praised her, pulled her panties the rest of the way off her legs, and brought her to stand in front of him. He lifted her slip of a dress up and over her head, pleased to see that she had nothing underneath, her body finally bare before him. He lifted her up into his arms and she went readily, clinging to him, drunk off the pleasure still thrumming underneath her skin. He laid her gently upon the thick carpet in front of the dwindling fire.

She closed her eyes and felt the softness of the carpet beneath her, the warmth of the flames falling erotically across her naked body, her senses heightened. She heard his clothes hit the floor and looked up at him, the want once more rising within her as he dropped to the ground and crawled back up her body. He licked her cunt once more, and she cried out, over sensitized. His tongue, hot and wet, slid along her stomach and up to her breasts. He suckled at both nipples, and by the time his mouth once more met with hers she was once more on the verge, teased beyond what she could stand.

Tom plunged his tongue into her mouth, and she groaned at the taste of herself, still covering his face. She felt the tip of his cock brush along her folds, and in a sudden moment of perfect ecstasy, he was inside of her.

It was nothing she’d felt before, the feel of him moving slowly in an and out of her, his tongue continuing to lap at her hardened nipples and along her throat. The slow pace he set had her writhing and gasping, and she brought her knees up, urging him to push harder, faster, something, anything other than the torturously slow strokes kept her on the verge but were not enough to push her over the edge. She met his eyes in the dying light, a thrill of adrenaline shooting through her at the wild, nearly feral expression across his features.

“Tom, please, please, more!” She managed to gasp out.

“More, Princess?” He taunted, still moving painfully slow.

“Yes, more, please!” His grin was wicked as he grasped both her ankles in one hand and shoved them upwards before slamming inside of her. He leaned over her and once more his hand found her throat, his thumb pressing along her pulse point, and she was gasping - gasping for air, gasping in the erotisism of his body hovering above her, his hands holding her captive to his pleasure. He released her ankles and his fingers found her clit, and once more she was falling, the molten fire coursing through her.

But just as her body became taut and arched and she was screaming, she felt that familiar presence - his presence - enter her mind.

Her defenses laid bare, her body welcoming him in every possible way as she orgasmed, he waltzed inside with no walls to stop him. She saw his eyes, black as the night looking deep into her pupils, and they were in the library.

There were the two chairs, one for her and one for him.

There was the ornate rug in front of the fire.

There was the trapdoor, the door that he was never supposed to see.

And as the last waves of her orgasm swept through her, she remained unarmed, the door that was usually so heavily guarded was easily pulled open.

And she was screaming, but it was no longer in pleasure.

The hand on her throat squeezed, and he held her with the length of his body, still hard inside of her. She thrashed in terror, but he held her down and began to once more pump inside of her, taking pleasure from her as his presence filled even the furthest crevices of her mind. He surprised her when he came, floored by the experience of finally having access to what he had been searching for - at the pleasure of her subconscious welcoming him in so fully.

Hermione thrashed again as he finished, hoping to throw him off, throw him out. But it was too late. Even at her best, let alone after being so expertly laid bare, she could not hope to push him out of the inner recesses now that he had arrived. She felt sick at the duality - his cock wonderfully heavy inside of her even as he squeezed harder along her throat and began an accelerated flip through everything she had tried so hard to keep from him.

As the minutes trickled by, Hermione could physically feel his anger grow and pulse, the aura surrounding them turning thick, black,  as death, anguish, and years of pain condensed into a few horrifying moments. She flailed, her air supply dwindling as he pulled to the forefront of her mind the last of what he needed to see.

And almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. He released her with a violent push, and stumbled up, staggering away from her. Hermione rolled over onto all fours, gasping, vomiting, tears streaming down her face and onto her naked body. She heard him roaring in anger, heard the shattering of glass throughout her room. All of her windows, her beautiful, floor to ceiling windows exploded into a million pieces. His feet stormed back and forth against the stone floors, the candles floating above them extinguished, and the fire within the hearth blew back into life, flames threatening to lick their way up the mantel and out onto her rug.

As quickly as she could, she dragged herself the few feet to her desk and grabbed at her wand before whirling around to face Tom, expecting a fight.

Instead, she saw him standing at the far window, his hands gripping the frame tightly, blood streaming from his hands as shards of glass ripped through his skin. His head hung heavy between his shoulders. She may have mistaken his posture for shock if she couldn’t still feel the barely contained anger rolling off of him in waves.

“Tom.” She said, calling him to look at her. She needed to see his face, and gauge the rage that bubbled inside of him, in order to plan her next move. The high he had given her in that enigmatic place of submission and obedience was long gone, and the only thing left within her was cold sobriety.

The moment she had feared for months had finally come, and now it was time to find out if Tom Riddle really had a shot at changing, or if he had always been bound to become the monster she had been fighting for over half her life.

“Tom, look at me.” She said loudly, her still naked body taught with adrenaline and ready for whatever might come.

But when he turned, she saw that the fight was already over.

His face was white as a ghost, his eyes nearly deranged, and although she could feel he was still overcome with anger, she could see if was not at her; not completely at least. They stared at each other for a long moment before he finally trudged over to the fire and slumped onto the floor, hanging his head in his hands. She approached slowly, stopping a short distance away, waiting for him to speak.

“People are right to fear me, but _you_ never need to, Hermione.” He uttered in a low tone. She had to strain to hear the whispered words over the howling of the wind whipping through the room, with no glass to protect them from the harsh weather outside.

“Really?” She said loudly, a scowl settling upon her features. “Because you almost just choked me to death.” As his anger diminished, hers grew. He had led her to trust him, and she had been a complete fool to ever have thought she could.

Tom scoffed. “You were nowhere near choking to death Hermione. Believe me, if I had wanted you dead, I would have killed you a long time ago.”

When he saw her nostrils begin to flare, he held up a hand to stop her from protesting. “And don’t be like that. I know you haven’t truly feared me for quite some time for that very reason. Clearly there are no secrets between us, so just stop with the games already, Hermione. You know me, you know who I am, better than anyone else, both living, and not yet born.” He laughed derisively, referring to everything he had seen in her memories.

“And yet you’ve _still_ chosen to be with me. So don’t you dare act all high and mighty now. You and I are clearly even more alike than I originally thought.” He fixed her with a shrewd glare, and she deflated slightly.

He was right. She had let him fuck her, let him dominate her, had let him take her in a way no one else had, despite everything she knew of him. It was time to let the pretenses go.

“Then prove it.” She threw back. He raised an eyebrow.

“Prove that I’m not going to kill you?” He asked.

“Yes.”

There was a long pause as they stared each other down, and Hermione could tell that he may not have had any immediate plans to kill her, but he had always held onto it as a contingency plan. If he did what she was asking of him, he would no longer have that option.

Finally, after what felt an eternity, Tom stood and approached her. He looked down at her, her body still poised for a fight, adrenaline coursing through her veins, waiting for his decision. Were they to part this night as enemies, or as lovers? As partners?

“Ok, I’ll prove it.” He said, his voice filled with heavy finality.

They stood facing one another on the carpet, soiled with cum and vomit and chunks of glass. A different kind of fire burned in his gaze as she cut a deep slice into his hand, and him into hers. With their blood mingling, and sleet pounding across the room through the broken windows, wind chilling their naked bodies to the bone, they made an unbreakable pledge to one another. Sealed in blood and magic, with a vow as deeply rooted within their spirits as a soul bond, Hermione bound herself to Tom Riddle, and him to her.

After the ritual was finished, Hermione felt a beautiful warmth spreading through her: power and rightness and healing, like at last she had put her past to rest. Tom pulled her roughly into his arms, holding her so tightly it hurt.

With a wave of their wands, they quickly put the room to rights and healed their wounds, before falling into bed and sealing their vow in an entirely different way. There would be questions, she knew, but they could wait.

They spent the night satiating their newfound hunger for each other, the type of  ravenous need that can only be awakened when every wall has been knocked down, and every secret has been laid bare.

She forgave him for his deception; how could she begrudge him what had ultimately brought them together? Her old self dead and gone, she welcomed in and embraced the future she had ushered in for them. The dissolution of Hermione Granger was complete, and as his hands continued to make her body sing, her soul felt complete in the rebirth she had begun all those months ago.

Nothing would be the same as it had been. Together, they would make sure of it. Dumbledore was finished as far as she was concerned, and Voldemort had truly died the minute Tom had glimpsed him in her mind.

As the sun rose on Christmas day, they finally began to drift to sleep, and Hermione heard Tom whisper in her ear as he held her in his arms.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to start planning, my love. We’re going to remake the world, you and I.”

A new life; a new world. Hermione couldn’t imagine anything she wanted more.

 

_Finis._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear what you think and how you felt about that twist there at the end! I worked so hard to write Tom in a very particular way, which I know may be controversial but I would love to hear what everyone thought of his character in this fic. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for reading and I want to give one more big Thank You to Lil Miss Gryffinpuff for all your hard work helping me with 3 Christmas Fests! 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed!


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